The Bridge

 In his travels he comes to a bridge made entirely of bones. 
Before crossing he writes a letter to his mother: Dear mother, 
guess what? the ape accidentally bit off one of his hands while 
eating a banana. Just now I am at the foot of a bone bridge. I 
shall be crossing it shortly. I don't know if I shall find hills and 
valleys made of flesh on the other side, or simply constant 
night, villages of sleep. The ape is scolding me for not teaching 
him better. I am letting him wear my pith helmet for 
consolation. The bridge looks like one of those skeletal 
reconstructions of a huge dinosaur one sees in a museum. The 
ape is looking at the stump of his wrist and scolding me again. 
I offer him another banana and he gets very furious, as though 
I'd insulted him. Tomorrow we cross the bridge. I'll write to 
you from the other side if I can; if not, look for a sign . . .

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